Anne Marie Duquette

by She Caught the Sheriff

  After a companionable silence during which Caro collected her thoughts, she began her story, starting with the horseback ride to the mine and ending with her tram ride to the Triple B. Marta was a quiet, sympathetic audience. When Caro finished, Marta simply took her hand and squeezed it.

  “Praise the Lord you’re all right.”

  “Amen,” Caro seconded. “But this doesn’t end here. I have a feeling things are going to get worse before they get better. So before our partnership goes any further, I have to ask—do you want out?”

  “Out?”

  “Yes. This may not be an easy case to solve, Marta. It could take forever. If I even solve it. So if you want to go back home and patch things up with your husband, don’t let me stand in your way.”

  Marta shook her head. “I already tried, and a strange woman answered my phone. I’ve heard her voice before…” Marta compressed her lips. “Let’s say I doubt I have much to go home to—unless it’s a divorce lawyer.”

  It was Caro’s turn to squeeze Marta’s hand, but Marta would only take so much sympathy.

  “Hey, I’m a grown woman. Until I decide what I want to do, this case is a good distraction.”

  “But if you get hurt… if someone comes after you because of me…”

  “I’ll just pretend the attacker’s my husband and his mistress and go straight for the jugular. I’m staying and that’s that. Now, tell me what we do next.”

  Caro had to hand it to her new partner; Marta was much calmer than she’d thought any woman could be under the circumstances. Marta had such strength, such determination, Caro knew she could confide in her.

  “Let’s start with this.” Caro slid the navigational computer across the table. “If I can get the map printed out at the front desk’s computer, I want the printout mailed to my parents today so they can have the Phoenix police seal and store it in the evidence locker.”

  “Shall I enclose a note of explanation?”

  “A short one, perhaps. You don’t have to go into detail. I’ve done this before, and my parents know the routine. But before you mail the packet, enclose your name and personal information as witness that this evidence hasn’t been tampered with.”

  Marta reached for her purse to jot down notes. “Got it. Anything else?”

  “See what you can dig up on the Bodines and the Ellises. So far, all the evidence has turned up in their presence or on their land. I have no reason to believe this case concerns anyone other than them. And my money’s on Morgan.”

  “This is a small town,” Marta said. “How far back do you want me to search?”

  “Parents and grandparents, for sure. Great-grandparents, if you can. One good thing about Tombstone, it’s full of old photographs and old newspapers, and lots of records.” She paused. “There were two newspapers the miners could buy—the Epitaph, which was pro-Earp, and the Nugget, which was pro-Cowboy. And of course Camillus Fly’s photographs—an expensive thing back then—were just the thing for the newly rich to purchase and send back home.”

  “I know all about those,” Marta said.

  Caro nodded. “Tombstone had a court seat, as well. There should be something about the Bodine and Ellis ancestors at the Old Court House here in town. I think I’ll cover the court’s museum records and leave you to the newspapers and photographs.”

  “Got it. How will I get this information to you?”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow from the Silver Dollar.”

  Marta’s pen actually fell to the floor. “Surely you aren’t serious about going back to the ranch!”

  “All my equipment and clothes are there. Not to mention one poor, nameless skeleton.”

  “Oh, so you’re going to pack up first and then movewhere, here?”

  “Nope, I’m staying put. I want to hear Morgan’s explanation, and I’m not going to be able to do that hiding my head in the sand.”

  “You’d be safer here! I don’t mind sharing the room.”

  Marta’s concern warmed Caro’s heart, but she was determined. “Marta, if someone really wants to hurt me, I won’t be safe anywhere.

  Marta retrieved her pen and tapped it against the table. “There’s only one thing left for me to do, then, and that’s come with you.”

  “No. You’re my ace—I need a partner.”

  Marta’s lips set in a tight line. “I don’t care for card analogies. And I don’t care for your plan.”

  “Neither do I, Marta.” Caro rose and walked to the door. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

  THE LATE AFTERNOON seemed strangely subdued as Catfish drove her back to the Silver Dollar. Wyatt had sent him for her after she’d called, and she met him when she left the hotel.

  “The sheriff said you’d probably rather drive with me, instead of him. Said you were somewhat skittish.”

  “I wasn’t then, and I’m not now,” she said firmly.

  Catfish heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I’m too danged old to put up with any hysterical woman.”

  The words were gruff, although his eyes were kind.

  “You’re in luck. I’m not in the mood for shrieking,” she said with a smile.

  But her smile faded the closer they drew to the Silver Dollar. She felt a sudden wish to be back in Phoenix, safe and sound in her own home, or perhaps at her parents’. Anyplace but this ranch.

  As if reading her thoughts, Catfish said, “The sheriff— he’s one good man, you know. The best.”

  Caro couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so she said nothing. Catfish turned onto the ranch’s drive and took her all the way to the main house. “End of the line, missy.”

  Caro started to open her own door, but Catfish moved surprisingly fast for a man “too danged old.” He came around to her side, opened the door and helped her out with old-fashioned courtesy. Then he pressed a slip of paper into her hand.

  “You ever need anything, Doc, you gimme a call.”

  Caro thanked him and put the paper in her jeans pocket. However, Catfish wasn’t ready to leave it there.

  “Before I started mining, I used to be one doozy of a cattleman. I could find the best piece of prime stock out of a herd o’ thousands. I know good blood, missy. Them Bodines got it. Know you don’t believe me, so until you do, keep my number handy. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Then shake on it.” Catfish spat in his right hand and held it out.

  Without batting an eye, Caro immediately followed suit. She shook hands, managing to suppress a slight grimace.

  “You’re not bad stock yourself,” Catfish said as he withdrew his palm and wiped it on his jeans. Once more Caro imitated his actions.

  “I never did like fussy, fancy women. Give me the sensible ones any day. Even Kimberly won’t shake an old man’s hand proper.”

  “I’m not Kimberly.”

  “That’s a fact. She keeps telling me what a city girl you are. But you don’t act like a city girl. Appearances surely can be deceiving.”

  You’re telling me! “Thanks again, sir.”

  Catfish doffed his beatup hat with a grand flourish. Then he was back in the truck and driving away. Caro waved, missing his straightforward kindness already.

  As she looked around in the still, hot afternoon, a tall figure stood watching, one boot resting on the bottom rail of the brood-mare corral.

  Caro lifted her head, took in a deep breath and walked toward Wyatt Bodine. The sun glared off the metal corral pipes, standard construction in the desert where wood was expensive, quickly splintered and destroyed by the sun.

  The Arabian mares scattered at her approach, despite their swollen bellies. Streaming tails and manes painted the air with swirls of silver and black. Caro couldn’t help but admire the horses’ beauty. And yet she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted from the task ahead of her—determining exactly what crime had been committed—and by whom. So many pieces of the puzzle were still missing. Potentially deadly pieces.

  She shivered, despite th
e heat. But she didn’t back down from approaching Wyatt. It wasn’t until she joined him at the rail, her pose identical, her eyes on his mares, that he spoke.

  “So here you are, walking into the spider’s parlor. You’re either the most courageous woman I’ve ever met—or the most foolish.”

  The corners of Caro’s mouth tilted upward. “I’ve been called both. And I won’t argue with either.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s my job. Because I knew the risks when I signed on. If you’re one of them, so be it.”

  “I’m not, you know.”

  “Then I have nothing to worry about, do I?”

  Wyatt nodded. They watched the mares settle again. Some of them ambled back to the fence, cautious around Caro, yet emboldened by their owner’s presence. One mare trotted up to Wyatt. But when he stuck out his hand to caress the black velvet muzzle, she tossed her head and sidled over to Caro.

  Stroking the arched neck, Caro tangled her fingers in the silky black-and-silver mane. The mare stood regally, accepting the caress. Caro continued to stroke her until the mare tossed her head with a snort, whirled on her back legs and cantered back toward the herd.

  Caro was suddenly aware of Wyatt studying her and boldly returned his gaze.

  “Is there anything you aren’t afraid to take on?” he asked.

  “Not when I think I’m right.”

  “I’m not certain of this, Caro, but—” Wyatt sighed deeply “—I think my brother is somehow involved in whatever’s going on.”

  Caro dropped her foot from the bottom rail of the pipe corral. She gripped the top rail with excitement. “Did you find him?”

  “Not yet. But he may be in financial trouble.”

  “Financial trouble? With all this?”

  She gestured toward the Arabians before her. Each animal was worth thousands of dollars, as were the unborn foals. There was a great demand for Arabians in the arid Southwest, as well as elsewhere in the world, a demand certainly great enough to keep the Silver Dollar in business.

  “I find that hard to believe,” Caro stated flatly.

  “About three months ago, Morgan took out a loan against his share of this ranch.”

  “Weren’t you worried?”

  “No. My brothers and I each own a specific third of the Silver Dollar, and we all have complete power when it comes to financial matters concerning that third. We only have one restriction. If we want to sell, we have to offer the land to blood kin first.”

  “Surely Morgan doesn’t want to sell.”

  “No, but he does want to expand his jewelry business. His original operation was in kind of a small place on the outskirts of town. He wanted to target sales to the tourists and move to the center of town.

  “That must have cost him,” Caro said.

  “You’d better believe it. The bank did what Morgan requested, and that was to mortgage his share of the ranch.”

  “Oh, no! The horses, too?”

  “No, the horses are mine and mine alone. I gave up cattle for horses and sold my share of the herd to the Ellises. Virgil sold them his cattle when he left home, and Morgan did the same a few years earlier to open his jewelry shop at the first location. But I need land to raise my Arabians.”

  “Don’t you have enough now?”

  “Only because I pay rent to both Virgil and Morgan to lease their share of the ranch. If we lose Morgan’s share, it’d be a tight squeeze to have enough exercise and grazing area for the horses I already own. I have no ready cash to start up elsewhere.”

  “Surely you could get a loan if worse came to worst.”

  “No. Equine stock is considered a high-risk collateral for a loan. One sweeping illness, the death of the few prime breeding stallions and it’s easy to wipe out a lifetime’s worth of work. The banks know that.”

  “Have you talked to Morgan about this?”

  “Not lately. Like I said, it was his share of the land, and he said he knew what he was doing. What worries me is what else I just found out.”

  Some of the heavier mares lay down, secure in their familiar surroundings. A few others dozed on their feet, while most continued to pick at what remained of the evening alfalfa bales. But Caro’s mind wasn’t on equine appetites. She hung on Wyatt’s next words.

  “Even if Morgan lost his share of the land, I could manage. But “Virgil gave Morgan power of attorney to manage his share, as well. He mortgaged that, too.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Oh, yes. I checked with the bank myself.”

  “But why would Morgan do such a thing? Or Virgil, for that matter? I would’ve expected Virgil to give you power of attorney.”

  “Morgan was doing me a favor. I have two full-time jobs—Morg mostly works on his jewelry. Occasionally helps me out by acting as a deputy when I need him.” He shrugged. “We thought it was a viable solution.”

  Caro shook her head in disbelief. “Doesn’t what Morgan did seem like… well, a betrayal of trust?”

  “No, Morgan wouldn’t do that. Virgil said he could do whatever he wanted to increase the family fortune, so to speak. Morg probably figured he could make himself and Virg some money in the jewelry game. I thought his business was doing well.”

  “Perhaps not,” Caro suggested. “Morgan would have to put out a lot of cash to get established. There’s the rent on the downtown building. Equipment. Staff. Silver isn’t that high, but it adds up. Turquoise costs, as well—and if he decided to go into goldsmithing and move up to faceted stones like diamonds, that could cost a bundle.”

  “I see we’re back to the gold again.” Wyatt’s lips thinned, and his eyes grew dark. “One thing’s for sure—if there’s a hidden stash of gold on this ranch, Morgan doesn’t have access to it, or he would never have mortgaged the Silver Dollar. Damn, I wish I knew why he did it without telling me!”

  “We’ll find out.” Caro suspected this might be the connection she’d been seeking, yet what she felt most intensely was concern for Wyatt. This was his brother.

  “I have to find him first.”

  “Morgan’s missing?”

  “I don’t know if ‘missing’ is exactly the right word. But he isn’t at his jewelry store in town. He isn’t on the ranch. No one’s seen him over at Hugh’s. I thought it might be Morg when I heard Catfish’s truck.”

  Caro felt a small twinge of disappointment. So Wyatt hadn’t been waiting for her. Not that it mattered, she told herself. “Where’s Morgan’s car?”

  “He uses the Jeep, and it’s still parked at my office. I checked with Kimberly earlier. The two sheriff’s cars are there, too, so he didn’t take one of those.”

  “Did Morgan have any business in Tucson?”

  “No, he would’ve told me if he did. We usually have feed and supplies to pick up, so we always let the foreman know when we’re going to the city. But Luciano hasn’t heard from Morgan. I hope—”

  Wyatt abruptly broke off, but Caro knew what he’d been about to say.

  I hope he’s all right.

  “I do, too.”

  Wyatt slowly turned to face her. “Thank you, Caro. I think you mean that.”

  She bit her lip and swallowed hard. “I mean it, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt nodded, then went on, the dread discernible in his voice, “I’m worried. It’s not like Morgan to disappear.”

  There was risk in the desert. Caro had grown up knowing that. Whenever she was going to be gone for any length of time in the scorching wilderness, she always let someone know her schedule. And whether on foot, horseback or driving, she carried her knife, rifle and canteen—all of which her mother had bought her.

  Caro thought back to her youth. Her mother had taken her out to the desert, setting up tin cans for target practice. Caro had started out with a BB gun and graduated to a rifle. Her mother had done the same with her younger sister.

  “You have to learn to protect yourself, honey,” her mother had said. “This is the desert. You have to know how to survive, how to k
eep yourself safe and sometimes…how to kill.”

  Caro hadn’t like hearing that. Neither had her younger sister. Caro had cried at the noise of the bullets until her mother had shown her the scars on one leg, where she’d been savaged by a javelina; the wild desert boar with the massive tusks.

  “The desert is your home, Caro,” she’d told her daughter that day. “If you and your home are friends, instead of enemies, you’ll survive, just as I did when I killed that javelina. So cry all you want, sweetheart, but reload the rifle while you’re crying, and let’s start again.”

  Yes, shooting and riding and hiking and learning the ways of the desert were part of growing up for Caro. She and her sister knew the harsh realities of the Southwest. Children grew up fast in the desert, or they didn’t grow up at all. It was as simple as that.

  For Morgan, a local, to be missing was serious indeed.

  Wyatt took off his Stetson and whacked it against his thigh in frustration. “Morgan’s nowhere to be found, twothirds of the Silver Dollar’s mortgaged, I have unidentified bones popping up, a forensics expert who thinks I’m trying to protect a conspirator who tried to kill her—and who happens to be my brother—and a tapped-out mine that might not be tapped out, after all. What next?”

  “A quick shower and dinner, then we go look for your brother,” Caro said decisively. “Or I can just put on a fresh shirt and snack in the car.”

  Surprise registered on his face. “You’ll help me look for him?”

  “You take your car, I’ll take mine, and we’ll cover twice the territory.”

  Wyatt paused, and the light in his eyes faded.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been waiting to tell you,” he said. “After this morning I had your car checked. Your saddle cinch wasn’t the only thing tampered with.”

  “Let me guess. Someone cut the brake lines.” The look on his face confirmed her suspicions. “How clichéd! Really, you’d think whoever this was—” she was careful not to say his brother’s name, “—would have a little more originality,” she said sardonically.

  “Sometimes the old tried-and-true methods work best. I had your car towed to town, Caro. It wasn’t safe to drive. You’ll have to go with me.”